


Travelogues

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson attend a talk and a reception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travelogues

**Author's Note:**

>  Written for JWP #7: **The Tangled Web:** It's crossover time! Incorporate at least one other character from another fictional universe or from actual history. Crack is just fine for this prompt.   
> **Warnings** : Dubious, but theoretically historically plausible, encounter; but really, this is just crack. See end of the work for more details. **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  
>   
> 

 

 

It was pure chance – and the grateful generosity of one of Holmes’ clients – that secured us tickets to one of the most widely-anticipated (and highly sought-after) events of the season. It was Holmes’ own reputation, however, that secured us invitations to a private reception afterwards with the famous speaker.

Holmes was initially reluctant to attend either event, but I managed to convince him by reading a few select passages from some of the speaker’s early works. My friend would never admit it, but he appeared intrigued by the writings, and the writer behind them. I was less surprised, for genius always speaks to genius, however diverse their respective fields.

The venue could scarcely hold all the ticket-holders, but once the man of the hour took the stage, the crowding, the heat of so many bodies close together, all that ceased to matter. The fellow was a master storyteller. I laughed so hard at parts of it that tears ran down my face and into my moustache. Holmes was more restrained, but his high, singular laugh barked out frequently, joining the roars of mirth from the audience.

The talk was humorous, but not only humor. There was wit and wisdom mingled in with the mirth, and a sly acknowledgement of absurdities that encouraged deeper thought. I could only marvel at the depths of the mind behind it all.

Afterwards, at the reception, so many people wanted to speak personally with the honored guest that we could not even make out his distinctive figure, with its shock of wild hair, thick brows, and exuberant moustache in the milling crowd. For once, Holmes himself went largely unremarked. As for myself, I was but one body in a sea of them, utterly unnoticed except when blundered into by an eager guest pressing forward through the throng. I found the ebullient mood rapidly wilting under the constant assault.

“Perhaps we had best make a strategic withdrawal,” Holmes leaned over and said into my ear after the fifth person trod upon my feet in as many minutes. “I doubt we will be able to catch even a glimpse of him, much less exchange any words. And I am not sure how much more elbowing my sides will withstand.”

It was a disappointment, but I decided I would rather keep what remained of the good mood engendered by the talk than stay to have it trampled along with what little gloss remained on my shoes. I nodded and followed Holmes from the crowded rooms and into the relative quiet of the vestibule.

Relative quiet, but not entirely so, for a flurry of activity surrounded a belated arrival at the door. Servants whisked away coats and hats, and to my utter astonishment, I found myself not five feet away from the very man we had come to see. Evidently he had been delayed, perhaps by well-wishers at the venue itself, and was only just now arriving at the party nominally in his honor.

His dark eyes assessed us swiftly, and his bushy eyebrows rose. “Well, now. Forgive me if I’m being forward, but it’s a natural part of the American character, and it’d be a remarkable coincidence indeed if there was more than a single pair of gentlemen matching your descriptions at this little shindig. Do I have the honor of addressing Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson?”

His words were deliberately folksy, almost too rustic, but his warm manner irresistible. My friend, never intimidated by rank or talent, gave the man a thin-lipped but genuine smile. “The honor is ours, Mr. Clemens. I enjoyed your talk immensely.” He held out his hand.

“And like the man of intelligence you’re reported to be, you’ve concluded you were unlikely to be able to exchange a sensible word with anyone in the aftermath, much less me,” he answered, shaking Holmes’ hand with vigor. “I wish I could tell you differently, but you’ve already deduced the truth of it, and I’d be a simpleton to pretend otherwise to you of all people.” He let go of Holmes’ hand and offered me a firm handshake in turn. “Doctor Watson. I’m a great admirer of your stories. I hope we haven’t seen the last of them.”

“Thank you,” I replied, stunned almost to speechlessness by the unexpected praise.

“You should really consider coming to the States for a visit,” Mr. Clemens continued. “You’d both find plenty of material for your work there. Such scenes and people to delight your pen, Dr. Watson, and as for crime, well, Yankee ingenuity isn’t lacking there any more than it is in other, more wholesome arenas, as I think you’d find, Mr. Holmes. And honestly, even I can’t imagine what you and my friend Nicola Tesla might get up to together, but I don’t doubt that such a meeting might well change the world.”

Holmes tilted his head, and his eyes grew distant for a moment as he considered the idea. “It is a generous thought. I admire the work of some of your foremost criminologists, and I cherish the originality and enthusiasm of my American correspondents. But it would take a great storm of crime indeed to bring me in the flesh to such distant shores.”

“That’s a pity, but I can’t exactly wish for a crime-wave of such magnitude, now can I?” Mr. Clemens shook his head. “And speaking of wishes, I’m sure my generous hosts have been wishing my presence for a half-hour or more. I must say my good-nights here, gentlemen, but would you mind if I paid a call on you in the next few days?” He grinned, but there was a serious look in those sharp eyes. “I have a story I’d like to tell you, one that you won’t believe.”

Holmes and I exchanged a quick glance. “We look forward to hearing it,” Holmes told him. “Call on us at any time.”

“I’ll do that. And no need to tell me the address,” he added with a chuckle. “I believe everyone knows it, even in America.” He nodded to us, and then walked off confidently towards his waiting public, while Holmes and I turned and went out into the night.

 

* Mr. Clemens is far better known by his pen-name, Mark Twain. He gave several celebrated talks in London in the 1890s. And yes, he really was good friends with Nicola Tesla!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 7, 2013


End file.
